


Swarm of Bees

by ChickenXD



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Ghost Hunters, Haunted Houses, Human Connor (Detroit: Become Human), M/M, Paranormal Investigators, Roadtrip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-07-04 20:23:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15848682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChickenXD/pseuds/ChickenXD
Summary: Hank and Connor go ghost hunting at their local haunted house





	Swarm of Bees

**Author's Note:**

  * For [biocomp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/biocomp/gifts).



> PIAU belongs to @biocomp and he's amazing pls check em out on here and twatter  
> also my serotonin levels finally allow for sth happy thank god.

“Can you change the music?”

Connor looks up from his phone to Hank.

“I mean, this is a good song, no?”

“Yeah, it’s also gonna put me right to sleep,” Hank complains, “Play something a little more exciting, you know? Something that’ll keep me up.”

“Maybe some Beethoven?”

“Come on, Con.”

“Alright, alright.”

Connor pauses the playlist, and the car is immediately silent. Connor quickly scrolls through his phone–

Music starts playing again, and Hank looks up at the screen. 

Bloodbuzz Ohio – The National, 2010. 

“You in a melancholic mood or something?”

“It just seems like the appropriate roadtrip song,” Connor muses, “Something about going back to somewhere you don’t belong to anymore.”

“Come on, play something exciting. Metal or something,” Hank suggests, “You’ve been playing your Mozart bullshit for the whole trip, it’s my turn.”

“That was Rachmaninoff.”

“You think I’m gonna remember the names of all these dead fuckers?”

Connor smiles and nods to himself. The song stops, and another song starts. 

Robot Ghost Story – Knights of the Black Death, 2023. 

“Yeah, that’s more like it, baby.”

 

They’ve been planning this trip for a while now, and finally had a chance to do it. Labor day weekend, Hank’s going to have Monday off, so they can have this camping trip over the long weekend. 

Connor had wanted to visit this abandoned house in a ranch, a little less than four hours away from where they live. The story was that the house used to belong to a family who died in a fire – the house has been renovated then, but every family who have tried to live there since has had some… unusual experiences. 

They had been lucky enough that the owner of the ranch had allowed them to stay there and film for the weekend. He hasn’t used the house for anything but was too lazy to tear it down, so it just stands there, collecting mold and dust. Based on the old pictures Connor found, it used to be a pretty nice house, a small cottage with white brick walls, a red door, some nice windows. 

If they do experience something, great, more content for his channel – if not, well then, it’s just a nice weekend trip. 

 

“Should we switch?” Connor asks, “You’ve been driving for a while.”

“What? It’s only been two hours,” Hank replied, “You should take some rest, since you’re gonna have to film your video later.”

“I mean, I’d love for you to help me out,” Connor said, “Besides, it’s only another hour and a half, not a long drive.”

“Another hour and a half?” Hank clicks his tongue, “Fucking hell, I’ll do it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Just get me some snacks. You got any more candy?”

Connor leans down to unzip his backpack, and fishes through the things inside. A bunch of cables, notebooks, his wallet, a few protein bars – buried under all of them is a few packs of Oreos. 

“Aww, they’re gonna be all broken now,” Connor sighs as he pulls one out, “And I made sure to put them on top, too…”

“I mean, they’re not gonna taste any different.”

Connor rips open the packaging, and takes out a cookie – it seems pretty whole, though it has some cracks. He places it in front of Hank’s mouth, and Hank leans down to eat it, his lips ever so slightly brushing against Connor’s fingers. Connor then takes out another piece and eats it himself.

  
  


They are greeted with a rusty gate as they arrive at the ranch. The words “Lambert Farms” cast from metal, hang from the top, held together by chains that are also rusting, and creaks ominously every time the wind blows, as if it could fall off any time. 

None of this seems to bother Connor, though. He’s looking excitedly out of the window at the horses and cows scattered across the grass plain, busy eating grass or whatever it is cattle do.

Hank slows down the car as they approach a tractor, and he gets out of the car, followed by Connor. The man inside the tractor hops down as he notices them – he’s a middle-aged man, maybe just a bit younger than Hank, wearing a brown Stetson hat, red shirt, and jeans. 

“Hey, you must be Doug?”

“You must be Hank Anderson!” He smiles as he shakes Hank’s hand firmly. “Good to see you, man.”

“It’s my pleasure to be here,” Hank replied, “And this is my friend Connor Arkay. He runs the show.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Lambert,” Connor greets politely as he shakes Doug’s hand, “Thank you for letting us stay here.”

“Oh, no problem. Got lots of people around here who wanna see ghosts or whatever.”

“Have you seen them on the property yourself?”

“Well, not me myself,” Douglas smiles, “My kids’ friends went in there once, you know, as a dare or something, say they heard doors creak or whatever, but you know, kids.” He shrugs, “Told them it was just the wind.”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

Doug smiles to himself as he looks at Hank from head to toe, pleased. 

“Damn, Hank, you said you’re military or something?”

“I used to be a cop, yeah.”

“We can use another pair of hands around here.” Doug laughs as he playfully slaps Hank‘s back, “If you ever decide you need a change of pace, you know?”

“You know, it’s probably nice to work in a farm,” Hank smiles, “Chasing chickens instead of criminals, doesn’t sound too bad to me.”

“Anyway, why don’t you folks park, maybe get settled in,” he said as he points to a blue house in the distance, “Me and my wife live in that house over there. Just come over if you need anything, alright?”

“Thanks.” “Thank you Mr. Lambert.”

They get back into the car, and continue driving down the path. 

 

“What do you think?”

“Of Doug?” Connor asks, “He seems nice.”

“No, no,” Hank shakes his head, “What do you say I quit my job and work in this farm?”

“Well, I think you’d rock the cowboy aesthetic,” Connor replied, “Also, if that means I don’t have to worry about girls hitting on you when we walk down the street, I’m down.”

“Oh, have you seen them farm girls?” he asks, “They’re real fit from working in the farm all day, probably eager for some action–”

Connor crosses his arms and slightly pouts his lips, and Hank can’t help but laugh. Connor’s so easy to tease, so jealous, his reaction is cute sometimes. Hank leans over to kiss his forehead. 

“Just kidding, sweetheart. Wouldn’t trade you for the world.”

  
  


Connor’s the first to get out of the car, and excitedly runs up the stairs to the front door. 

“You don’t wanna unload your things first?” Hank asks, but too late, Connor already opened the door and was making his way inside. Hank sighs as he, too, makes his way up the creaking stairs and into the house.

It actually doesn’t look half bad. The wooden floor is grey, covered in dust so thick their footsteps leave a trail, and there are some cobwebs hanging from the ceiling, but there’s a lot of natural light coming through the windows into the house, so it doesn’t look all that scary. Some of the wallpaper on the walls are peeling, revealing the grey and black walls underneath – probably remains from the fire. There’s even still furniture in here, a long wooden dining table, some accompanying wooden chairs, a frame containing black and white photos of a family, a white stove that looks like it came from the fifties, though it’s rusting and there’s a dried trail of black liquid coming out of the oven door. 

“Well, this is pretty nice, don’t you think?” Connor asks as he tries to push open one of the windows – the hinges creak loudly as it moves – clearly hasn’t been oiled in a while. “I guess they did try to fix the house and all.” 

“I mean, if you brought Gavin here, he’d probably still freak out.”

“That’s true.”

The hinges creak again as Connor closes the window. They probably need some circulation in the house, but Connor’s not going to risk letting bugs in.

“What are they doing this weekend, anyway?”

“Niles’s friend is opening a pop-up exhibition in Chicago, I guess they’re helping out.”

Connor grasps the handles of a door to try to open it, but it wouldn’t budge. He shrugs and moves to the next door, which opens easily – 

It must have been a bedroom of some sort, since there’s a wooden headboard in the middle of the room, but there’s no bed frame or mattress. Probably fell apart a long time ago.

“I guess we can sleep here?”

“Sure, that works.”

“This is such a cute place, though,” Connor smiles, “Sumo would love if, too. A big yard with sheep and chickens to chase around.”

 

They spend the next hour just unloading things from Hank’s van. Connor first made sure to clean the floors – he doesn’t usually do this, but now that they’re going to be stay the night, might as well make it habitable – that alone took a good hour. They then unloaded their sleeping bags into the ‘bedroom’, and Hank dropped some of their equipment into the living room. 

“I think I’ll start filming after the sun sets,” Connor said, “It’s better for the mood, don’t you think?”

Hank nods. It’s almost six o’clock now, so the sun will probably set in about an hour.

“The reception is pretty bad here, by the way.”

“Yeah, that’s unfortunate,” Connor replied, “Hopefully Niles won’t need to call me or anything.”

“You think maybe Doug has wifi at his house?”

“Maybe, he’d be living a pretty miserable life if he doesn’t,” Connor replied, “Should we go ask him?”

“I mean, I don’t really mind…” Hank sighs, “We’re only gonna be here until tomorrow noon anyway, right?”

“I’m sure we can find things to do that doesn’t involve the internet.” Connor smiles ever so sweetly, “We don’t often take trips like this, Hank. We might as well enjoy each other’s company.”

Hank nods, because well, Connor has a point. Usually when Connor comes to hang out at Hank’s place or vice versa, they either watch a movie or go through the forums to find something to laugh about. It’s nice that they’re spending time together, but they’re not fully focused on each other – it’s nice to be disconnected from the distractions of the world, just the two of them together for one night.

And whatever ghosts are in this house, if any. 

“Are you hungry?” 

“Not really, but if you’re gonna eat now, I will too.”

Connor unzips the freezer bag and takes out a big lunch box. 

“What you got over there?”

“Made some onigiri earlier today,” Connor replied, “Which one do you want, chicken or salmon?”

“Both?”

He hands Hank two onigiris, wrapped in saran wrap. He tacked a piece of seaweed that’s been cut into a fish shape onto one of them, too, probably so he can tell them apart.

This is cute. Hank would never have put this kind of effort into his food – he’ll usually just bring a few cans of spam when he’s going camping. 

“We should probably go see Doug after this,” Connor suggests as he unwraps his own onigiri, “We can interview him, you know, for the show.”

“Good idea.”

 

“We’re here with Doug Lambert, the owner of Lambert’s Ranch.”

Doug smiles at the camera before he turns to look at Connor. Hank gives them the thumbs up – the mic input is green, the video timer is progressing, everything’s working great.

They’re in Doug’s living room, sitting on a couch in front of a bookshelf. Doug’s wife is standing behind the camera, watching them – Doug is all smiles, happy that he’s going to be featured in a video on the internet. He even made sure to get changed into a nice flannel shirt – gotta look good for the camera, he said.

“So how long have you lived here, Mr. Lambert?”

“Been here for, uh, about thirty years now,” Doug replied, “Moved here after I got married, now both my kids are all grown up, going to college.”

“So you’re aware of the haunted house when you bought the ranch?”

“Well, I’m not living there, and it’s not going to do anything, right?”

“That’s very brave of you, Mr. Lambert.” Connor smiles, “I know a lot of people who would be terrified to own a haunted property.”

“You’re staying in there tonight, aren’t you?” 

Connor shrugs, “Hopefully nothing follows me back home. Have you been in there, though?”

“I’ve been there a couple times, you know, just to check it out,” Doug replied, “My kids once had a dare or something with their friends, and they told me that doors started opening on their own, stuff like that, and I told them, eh, it’s probably just the wind.”

“Do you maybe know about the history of the house?”

“Oh, yeah.” Doug hesitates for a second – Connor had given him a card with some information earlier, and asked him to recall as much of it as possible during the interview. “The Chandler family, right? They died in the fire a long time ago, mum and dad and their little kiddos. I think they were a pretty normal family, pretty religious, you know all that good stuff.” 

 

Connor looks around the empty house before he enters, trying to make sure that everything remains exactly as he’s left it. 

Their water bottles are still on the dining table, along with the lunch box. The saran wrap that Hank hasn’t thrown away is still there, too, squeezed into a small plastic ball. 

“Come on, Connor, there’s nothing in there.” Hank gently pushes Connor, trying to urge him to go in.

The sun has set now, so the living room is beginning to get dark – it still looks and feels like a pretty normal house, though. Connor sighs as he finally decides that he’s inspected enough, and walks in. 

“We should probably do the introduction now, huh?”

“Yeah, this seems like a good atmosphere,” Connor replied as he picks up the ball of plastic and puts it back in their designated trash bag. “Let’s do it here, in the living room.”

Connor pulls one of the dining chairs to dust off with his fingers before he sits down. Hank places the tripod in front of him, and stands back to look at the placement – Connor’s perfectly in the middle, and the faint light from outside illuminates just one side of his face, giving him kind of a creepy vibe.

“Okay, whenever you’re ready, I guess,” Hank said as he presses the record button. 

Connor draws a deep breath and closes his eyes, and Hank knows he’s quietly counting to ten before he exhales – he does this every time before he starts the introduction, and they always have to cut it out of the footage later – it’s… just a thing Connor does, sort of a ritual. It calms him down, and by the time he exhales and opens his eyes again, it’s as if he’s stepped into a different personality – not Connor the IT guy, but Connor the ghost hunter.

“Welcome to a special episode of Deviant Souls,” he begins, smiling into the camera, “Hank and I just are in Lambert’s Ranch, where we have heard rumors of a haunted abandoned house. The house used to belong to the Chandler family up until 1867 where a fire broke out, killing all the family members. It wasn’t until 1888 when another family bought the ranch and this house with it, but–”

They hear a loud creak – Connor visibly jumps from his seat, and Hank swore he could feel his heart stop for a second. He would have yelled “what the hell” if he didn’t know they were recording right now, too. 

Connor looks around, trying to find the source of the noise – he turns to Hank, as if asking for help, but he also sees the red light from Hank’s camera that they’re still rolling. 

He closes his eyes again, draws another deep breath, and turns to the camera.

“Well, that was a nice little surprise,” he said as calmly as possible, “But they started reporting strange occurrences – doors opening on their own, strange voices, lights flickering on their own – so we’re going to stay the night here and investigate, maybe we’ll see a ghost.”

Hank presses the record button again, and the red light disappears.

“Okay, what the fuck was that,” Connor asks as he stands up, “I closed the windows before we left. The winds can’t be that strong.”

“I mean, it’s possible…”

Hank sighs as he follows Connor into the kitchen to check on the windows again, and as Connor had said, the windows are tightly shut. 

“I can’t be the only one who heard that, right?”

“Yeah, there was definitely a creak,” Hank replied, “I don’t know where it came from, though. Maybe some other window?”

“There’s a window in our bedroom, I guess…”

Connor starts making his way to the bedroom, but abruptly stops – Hank bumps into him face first, and lets out a little grunt. 

“What the hell, Connor?”

“This door wasn’t open before.”

Connor takes out a flashlight and shines it into the mysterious room, but he can’t see anything – it’s as if the darkness is so deep that light just passes through it, and doesn’t have a chance to reflect back for Connor to see what’s inside. Hank slowly opens the door to take a better look–

“I’ll get some stuff,” Connor replied as he disappears into the living room, “Don’t go in without me.”

“I don’t know if we should go in here, Connor.”

“What, are you scared?”

A little, Hank wants to admit, but he knows Connor’s still going inside, with or without him, and Hank is most definitely not letting him go alone. 

Connor comes back with his ghost hunting kit and the GoPro sticking out of his shirt pocket, and shines the flashlight around once again. He still can’t see what’s on the other side, but it seems to be some stairs, with a symbol drawn on the floor – looks like a sun with a dot in the middle of it. 

“You said the door wasn’t open before?”

“Yeah, it felt like it was locked from the inside.”

Connor takes the camera out of his pocket, just to make sure it’s recording – the timer is counting up, so everything’s being recorded.

He takes a tiny step into the room, being very careful not to accidentally trip down the stairs. He shines his flashlight into the room again, but he still can’t see anything–

Suddenly he’s gripped with the irrational fear that the door will slam shut behind him like they do in horror movies, thus separating him from Hank. He turns to grab Hank, and pulls him inside. 

“Hey, okay, okay, I said I’ll go in with you.”

  
  


The door doesn’t close behind them, thank fuck. There’s a tiny bit of light coming in through the crack in the door. Connor and Hank are making their way down the stairs now, Connor having a death grip on Hank’s wrist to make sure he’s still there. It hurts and it’s probably gonna bruise a little tomorrow, but Hank likes knowing that Connor is holding onto him, too. Connor’s now shining his flashlight to the floor, trying to find the next step, so that they don’t fall. 

“Kind of cold in here, huh?” Hank asks – his voice echoes in the room, forming one loud blur of echoes. Connor just nods in reply. 

“What do you think we’ll find down there?” Hank asks, “Like, dead bodies and shit?”

“Given that it has been quite a long time since anyone’s down there, we’ll probably find nothing more than skeletons,” Connor replied. 

Now Hank quietly regrets that they only have one flashlight and Connor’s using it to light the path, because Hank would love to see Connor’s terrified face right now. Maybe when they get back upstairs.

They finally get to what seems like pretty even flooring. How far deep underground is this?

Connor turns around to look back at the door – they can’t quite see the door anymore, but there’s a thin line where light can enter from the outside. It looks pretty high from here.

They suddenly hear some footsteps, sounding as if it’s coming from above – Hank feels Connor’s grip on his wrist tighten. (It’s kind of cute.)

“Don’t move.”

“Yeah, I’m not moving at all, Con.”

His eyes are slowly adjusting to the darkness, and he can see Connor looking around the room, trying to inspect the source of the noise, though the footsteps have stopped for now.

“Sounds like it came from upstairs, though.”

“But nobody’s upstairs.”

Hank shrugs, “Maybe Doug came in?”

They remain very still for the next minute. Hank honestly can’t hear anything anymore, save for his own breathing – part of him is tempted to start tapping his foot on the floor, see how Connor reacts to that–

He never got the chance as the footsteps appear once again – they don’t last long, just for about fifteen seconds, though it sounds like more than one set of footsteps – they definitely come from above. Connor quickly points his flashlight upwards – there’s nothing, though, except for some cobwebs and gross dust hanging from the stone ceiling. 

“You wanna go back upstairs?”

Connor shakes his head as he turns to look at the door again – still open, thank fuck. 

Of course Hank doesn’t believe that it’s a ghost or a spirit or anything like that. Maybe the winds are strong and something fell on the floor and is rattling around – but then would it be that loud, and would it sound like multiple footsteps? 

But it can’t be a ghost, of course – maybe Doug came in to check on them?

Hank can’t see exactly what Connor’s doing, but he starts moving his flashlight to look around the room. There are a few marks on the other side of the wall, though they just look like black lines. Connor starts walking towards the other side, though he’s still holding onto Hank–

Hank stops as he feels something bump into his foot, so Connor stops, too. Hank instinctively kicks whatever it is on the floor–

It makes a soft clack as it flies in the air and hits the floor seconds later. Connor shines his flashlight to see what it is–

Looks like a white stick, with a black bar in the middle of it. Hank sighs as he bends down to pick it up–

“You know what this is?”

“No,” Connor whispers, “And you should really put it back.”

“Why, you don’t wanna look at this upstairs?”

“We don’t know if it’s cursed–”

“Well, it’s going to curse me, not you.” 

Connor sighs as he continues scanning the floor with his light to see if there are more sticks like that on the floor, but apparently not. Instead there are more black markings–

As he slowly scans the room further, the marks seem to form part of a bigger symbol – the same sun with a dot, and they are standing just off the dot in the center of it. 

  
  


“The Chandler family is known to be very religious. The father, Joseph Chandler, is a retired pastor, and he and his wife Mary had a lot of friends who would come visit the ranch. At the time of the fire they had two children, Christine, aged nine years old, and Christopher, six years old. The whole family was asleep when the fire broke out from the kitchen, and though Joseph and Mary tried to get their children to safety, they became trapped in the house and never made it out.”

 

Hank hates the spirit box with a passion. 

He just hates that loud static noise – it always hurts his ears. He knows Connor used to have another one that was way louder than his current one, but he still would prefer that Connor not use it on their trips. Though he can’t complain that much, because Connor gets really excited and cute when something comes through, plus he gets a lot of good content that way. 

So he keeps his comments to himself when Connor sets up the box in the middle of the circle. Connor presses a button and the box comes to life, letting out loud static noises that are supposed to vary in frequency or some shit like this. Is there even science behind that?

“Hello, my name is Connor,” Connor introduces himself, “This is my friend Hank.”

“Hi.”

“If anyone’s here with us, feel free to say something.”

Connor stops talking, leaving them with nothing but just the static of the ghost box. 

Hank looks at the stick he’s picked up to try to guess what it is, but there are no markings or text or anything that could indicate what it is. It doesn’t feel like it’s made of wood – plastic, maybe? Which would mean it didn’t come from the 1900s. Probably someone’s trash?

A soft, distorted “wah” comes through the ghost box. Connor looks up at Hank, eyes lit with excitement, asking for confirmation. Hank shrugs.

Before either of them can say anything else another voice comes through. 

_ “Ȟ̷̭a̵̡͠ņ̷͊k̷̝̀” _

Hank suddenly feels a chill up his spine. Is it… is it calling his name? Sounds like a distorted female voice. 

“It called you,” Connor confirms. 

Makes sense, actually. Hank’s name is shorter, easier to pronounce, just one syllable, while Connor’s name is a little harder, especially with that ‘r’ sound–

Wait, hold up, how does this ghost… spirit… thing know his name, though? Because Connor introduced him, right (he even said hi). But why call him instead of–

“It… it might be saying “hang”, don’t you think?”

“But nobody has died of hanging in this house.”

“What, they can’t say whatever they want?”

“Who are you?” Connor asks into the box, “Are you part of the Chandler family?

The soft ‘wah’ noise comes through again. It’s a different voice that called Hank. 

“Sounds like a kid?”

“Now you’re just pulling things out of your ass, Con.”

_ “T̶̖͋h̶̠͐ę̵̈́r̴̛̫ẹ̴̀'̸̞̆s̴̟̑ ̴̭͌n̶̩͗o̷̰̓t̶̮͑ ̴͇̓m̷͖̒ū̵̪c̷͉̎h̶͖͐ ̷̯̋t̶̥̑ī̵͈ṁ̸̩ë̶͎́” _

That’s the female voice again. Connor turns his attention to the ghost box once again.

“Not much time for what?”

_ “H̸͖̑u̵͖̓r̶͋͜ř̷͚y̷̡̅ ̷͓̽C̵̹̆o̴̫͂n̴͙̅ṋ̴̿o̷̳͐r̶̰̆.D̸̼̉ê̸̳c̴͖̑i̵͂͜d̸̙̽e̶̲ ̴̠w̵̘͛ḩ̸̉ȍ̴͖ ̸̡́y̶͈̆o̴̞̊û̷̜ ̴͔̊ă̸̲r̷͙̈e̵̩̔.” _

  
  


“We’ve been finding this symbol around the house. Looks like a sun, maybe an eye?”

Connor knelt down by the symbol on the floor and pans his camera over it. 

“I don’t really know what it means, though, it hasn’t come up at all in my research.”

“Maybe some shit like the Illuminati? Rituals and shit?” Hank asks, “I mean, you’re out here in a ranch in the middle of nowhere, you know? You can do whatever you want, sacrifice some chickens down in that scary ass basement, I don’t know.”

“Well, so that’s Hank’s theory, please let us know what you think in the comments!”

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> this is also my first foray into writing horror tho so i'd love to hear what yall think!!  
> catch me on twatter, [@1isblue](https://twitter.com/1isblue) thank you lads


End file.
